


On Her Deathbed

by serkysutcliff



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Pronouns for Grell Sutcliff, Fluff and Angst, MINOR MANGA SPOILERS??, POV Third Person Limited, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character, Will is emotionally constipated, bro i love grell sutcliff so much she deserves the world, i sat and wrote this in the space of 12 hours im dying scoob, lots of blood description, othello and ronald are baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24487801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serkysutcliff/pseuds/serkysutcliff
Summary: Grell is severely injured after a run-in with the Undertaker, and as she recovers, she must figure out why William is acting so bizarrely.
Relationships: William T. Spears/Grell Sutcliff
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	On Her Deathbed

**Author's Note:**

> honestly this was inspired by some kind of fever dream idk man i've never written a black butler fic before but my friend said it was good so yeet take my angsty fluff

How had things collapsed so rapidly?  
  
One moment, Grell had been fending off yet another of the Undertaker’s attacks with Ronald at her side; the next, she had seen a flash of green as the elder reaper had switched his focus to William—William, who had been standing still, intent on collecting the souls they had been tasked with, before the Undertaker had interfered. How had they been supposed to know that they had been on that wretched Ciel Phantomhive’s property? It had looked like any other forest to her.  
  
Never mind that now. The fact was, William was in the Undertaker’s sights; despite his lack of spectacles, the Undertaker was far from blind, and he had seen a rather perfect opportunity to whittle down the trio of reapers to a pair.  
  
‘Will!’ is all Grell had time to yell. Fortunately, her physical reaction speed was faster than her words, and with a leap she was close to being able to knock the Undertaker off his course. No—she wasn’t! But she _did_ have time to—  
  
‘ _Miss Sutcliff!_ ’ Ronald had not moved from his spot, still processing a blow to the head he had previously received in their skirmish, but that did not prevent him from seeing the waterfall of red now gushing out of his friend’s chest.  
  
Grell had not had time to disrupt the Undertaker’s beeline, but she _had_ had time to intercept it.  
  
She could feel every sharp millimetre of the blade as it sliced through her clothes as if they were nothing. Each one burned like a dozen suns, tearing her flesh and the muscle beneath, bringing tears to her eyes and the taste of melting iron to the back of her raw throat. This was a deeper cut than the one she had received on the Campania; the Undertaker had not just intended to injure Will, had he?  
  
Her eyes met the elder reaper’s, and for a brief second, the latter looked shocked at how quickly his target had changed. But the surprised expression soon turned into a little smile: he had not reserved a preference for which reaper to eliminate, so long as it was done.  
  
With one swift motion, the Undertaker pulled his death scythe back over his shoulder, and Grell cried out with the searing pain it brought along with it.  
  
It was not until he heard that cry that William, until then absorbed by his task, turned around. With a look of absolute horror he beheld the sight of Grell, her arms spread, her red hair flowing and mixing with the blood flowing freely from her great wounds, her back to him and agonisingly arched from the force of the Undertaker’s death scythe pulling the life from her.  
  
Indeed, for it was then that all the reapers saw it: Grell’s cinematic record, ripped out of her core like a jagged splinter.  
  
‘No,’ she whispered, her throat sore and flooded with her own blood. ‘Please—’  
  
She didn’t want to see it.  
  
She didn’t want to relive it.  
  
‘ _Don’t make me remember!_ ’

*

What felt like an eternity later, Grell lay upon her back, red blood mixing with the dark green grass of the forest clearing. Her beloved death scythe lay discarded at her side, the brightness of her eyes had dulled, her breath was ragged, her hair tangled and her clothes ruined from the large gash cutting from her right hip all the way to her left shoulder.  
  
How awful, she thought. To be so horribly exposed in front of a group of boys. And yet, she had not the strength to tell them to look away.  
  
With another flash of green, the Undertaker had jumped from the clearing to the top of a pine tree, his death scythe glinting beneath the moon’s rays, his phosphorescent eyes shining like cursed stars.  
  
‘It seems I have managed to get my message across,’ he said, his grin ever present. ‘I shall leave you now. Do pop in again some time. I’m curious to see if the redhead shall still be with you.’  
  
‘You bastard!’ Ronald shouted, his knuckles turning white beneath his gloves, gripping his lawnmower like it was the only thing keeping him from lunging at the Undertaker. ‘What have we ever done to you?!’  
  
‘You have your orders as I have mine,’ replied the reaper. ‘I assure you, it is nothing personal.’  
  
With those final words, he vanished into the night, followed by yet another string of curses from Ronald.  
  
But soon, the young reaper was at Grell’s side, gripping her shoulders, yelling her name over and over again in an attempt to rouse any reaction from her. She could hear him, that dear boy; and although blurred, she could see his anguished face, his welling tears, and she felt terrible for not having the power to reply to his pleas.  
  
A fatal cut from an ancient death scythe, followed by an agonising reminder of why she even exists—no, that hadn’t done her any good at all.  
  
In the corner of her blurry vision, she noticed William standing above her, quite frozen, silently processing the sight before him. No doubt judging how incapable she had been in effectively saving both of their lives. She gave a silent chuckle, her vocal chords having utterly given out. What a perfectly cold man he was!  
  
Ronald noticed the slight movement in her chest and lips, and quickly leapt on this sign of life. ‘Miss Sutcliff!’ he tried again, shaking her once more.  
  
‘Ronald, stop that before you injure her further,’ came William’s voice at last.  
  
The younger reaper looked up from his friend, angry tears flowing. ‘I’m trying to get her to wake up! She won’t respond!’  
  
‘I can see that.’  
  
‘Then bloody help me, would you?!’ Ronald cried. ‘You’ve just been standing there idly the whole time when it was _your_ bloody life she was trying to save!’  
  
This seemed to strike a chord somewhere in William’s being. He adjusted his spectacles and knelt down. ‘I am aware of that, Ronald, but shaking her around is not going to help the matter.’ He then removed the blond’s hands from the redhead, and placed his own fingers, removed from the usual black gloves, to Grell’s neck in an attempt to feel her pulse.  
  
‘She is indeed alive,’ he finally remarked after a few seconds, but at no point did he attempt to remove his hand from the lady. Instead, he deftly manoeuvred it to her upper back, his other hand coming to the folds of her knees, and with a delicacy one would use to lift an ancient piece of china, he picked up the red-haired reaper.  
  
‘Ronald, kindly inform administration that a medical ward will be required upon our return. Quickly now.’  
  
‘Yes, sir!’  
  
William’s tone had been as firm and composed as ever, and her senses were completely thrown out of balance, but it did not escape Grell’s notice how gently he was treating her. If her entire being had not been in paralysing agony, she would surely have made a flirty remark—yes, along the lines of _my, my, dear Will, you certainly know how to sweep a lady off her feet!_  
  
But for now, she had no such energy, and what energy she had left was running to its end. She let herself drift off to sleep, comfortable in Will’s tender hold, and praying that when she awoke, all of her pain would have ceased.

  


*

The walls were of a horribly dull white, as were the sheets of the medical ward’s bed she found herself lying in. They had been pulled halfway up her body, and the only attractive shade to be seen in her miserable vicinity was a flourish of red staining the bandages wrapped around the entirety of her chest and abdomen.  
  
Grell winced, running a slender hand across the wrappings, remembering the pain the attack had caused her. An upset frown soon followed. That wretched Undertaker’s scythe was going to leave a ghastly scar, she was certain of it.  
  
She shook her head. Now was not the time to be thinking about her appearance. She had barely made it out alive—  
  
Alive?  
  
She bit her lip until she could taste the familiar metallic liquid pooling on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears begin to well, but as soon as she did so, flashes of her previous life appeared to her like bursts of light.  
  
She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes, her fingers curling, her nails scratching at her already distraught hair. A choked sob was threatening to escape her still-sore throat. Cursed, cursed cinematic record! Why couldn’t she have carried on her sentence as a grim reaper, blissfully unaware of her miserable past, and how it came to an end?  
  
She let her hands fall to the sides of her face, all of her anger suddenly slipping away, her face settling into an almost emotionless expression. No, that wasn’t true, was it? This whole time, she _had_ known how she had lived, all those years ago. She had always remembered. She had just ignored it every single day up until now. And now, the pain was fresh in her mind, and had been laid bare not only for her, but for the Undertaker, Ronald and William to see.  
  
Speaking of which—where were they?  
  
With another wince and a breathy groan, Grell edged herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at the room she was in, and if anyone had been in there with her the entire time. Oh—her spectacles had been removed. She reached to either side of the bed, fumbling for what would hopefully be some kind of bedside table with her spectacles upon it—yes, there they were! She slipped them back onto her nose, and breathed a sigh of relief, immediately feeling much more grounded.  
  
Grell froze.  
  
Stood calmly by the window, leafing through a small pile of papers, death scythe resting against the window ledge, was William. He was facing away from her, and clearly had yet to notice her state of consciousness.  
  
Grell looked on, a little confused. Will was here, but Ronald or Othello weren’t? She huffed. Some friends they were—  
  
Clearly, her little noise of indignation had alerted Will that was she awake, for her thoughts were cut off by the rapid succession of Will putting down his papers, picking up his death scythe, and promptly sending a pincer straight towards Grell’s face to force her onto her back.  
  
‘ _Gah!_ ’ she squawked.  
  
‘Ah, so your voice has recovered,’ he noted, retracting his death scythe and adjusting his spectacles with it in one swift movement.  
  
Grell scowled. ‘A bit of something in my throat shan’t silence me, dear Will.’ The innuendo and endearment came naturally, but her tone did not match it: she was hurt and exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and the last thing she needed was a lecture from William. ‘And although I appreciate your urge to keep me in bed, why did you feel the need to shove that thing in my face and startle me like that? Were you not aware that I was on my deathbed just moments ago?’ She lifted her head as she spoke so that she could see him, but dared not lift herself any more.  
  
For a brief moment, there seemed to be a tenseness in Will’s jaw, but before Grell could fully process it, it was gone.  
  
‘Moments ago?’ he repeated, his voice as composed as ever. ‘Grell, you have been in that bed for almost a week.’  
  
Grell felt as though a weight had plummeted to her stomach, and she stopped breathing for what felt like an eternity—she did not know how much time elapsed, but William did not press her.  
  
Once she had regained her breath, she could only mutter: ‘A week?’  
  
William nodded.  
  
Grell let her head fall back to the pillows. Had her injuries been that serious? Just how much of her life had the Undertaker ripped out—suddenly, she sat up, clasping her hands to her mouth.  
  
‘Then I’ve missed so much work— _ah!_ ’ She clenched her eyes shut and clutched her chest. Whatever stitches or treatment she had been given was not going to last long with the way she was moving about.  
  
Had her eyes been open, she would have seen a wave of concern flood William’s features.  
  
By the time they were, his stoic expression had returned.  
  
‘I had not expected you to care so much for your workload, Grell,’ he retorted, but he had leaned his death scythe against the window ledge again and was steadily approaching her bedside.  
  
‘Then you truly do not know me at all!’ she practically growled at him, wincing at the pain it brought her. ‘Work is important to all of us, even if some of us prefer to make it fun— _hah!_ ’ A violent cough escaped her throat, and she caught it in her hands just in time—but their contents were red, as red as the stain which had spread across her bandages since she had first awoken. She stared at the colour, bewitched by it, stunned that so much could be pulled from one body, her own body.  
  
‘Grell, please calm down!’ William’s voice was louder, more anxious, than it had been before. ‘You have strict orders to remain— _Grell!_ ’  
  
She had lurched forward in a horrid coughing fit, red trickling through her closed fingers, down her hands, down her wrists and forearms, dripping onto those boring, white sheets she had been greeted with, almost giving a certain life to them. William attempted to rub her back, to ease the pain, but it was no use: she fell onto her side and curled herself into a ball, kicking the remaining sheets from her legs, hopelessly choking on the blood caught in her throat, rising from the wounds she had reopened in her fervour. She felt William’s touch disappear, accompanied by hurried footsteps. Was William leaving? Did he feel as though as he could nothing more for her, that she was doomed?  
  
She had never felt so cold.  
  
Soon, though, she heard someone—no, two people approaching again.  
  
‘Grell!’ came a worried shout from Othello, who had emerged from the doorway followed by William.  
  
_So he had gone to fetch someone who could actually help?_  
  
Grell would have replied to Othello—her sweet, dorky, nerdy friend, Othello—but could do no such thing.  
  
‘Grell, please lie flat for me. I know it hurts, but I must stop the bleeding before attempting to clear your throat, do you understand? Or it’ll just keep coming.’  
  
Through her coughs, Grell whimpered pitifully. She was so comfortable, so safe curled up like this, and the last thing she wanted to do was move.  
  
Othello sighed. ‘I thought as much. I’m sorry for this, Grell. William, could you lend a hand?’  
  
‘Why, what are you going to do?’ replied the dark-haired reaper.  
  
‘We must get her to lie flat and so we can get to the wound, or she’s just going to stay like that until she’s drained completely.’  
  
‘I see.’  
  
‘Take off the bedsheet, hold her ankles—good, now _lift!_ ’  
  
The scream that was ripped from the deepest part of Grell’s core was a sound that both of the men could have lived several lifetimes without needing to hear. Tears burned her eyes and her cheeks, her fists clenched and she struggled desperately in the men’s grip. Droplets of blood flew from her mouth and landed on her chin and spectacles. After what felt like a century of Othello removing the sullied sheets, she was laid back down, flat on her back. Instinctively, she folded her arms over her chest again.  
  
‘Now, Grell, you’re going to have to let me get to your bandages,’ said Othello, trying to pry her arms apart. ‘I need to change them so you don’t get an infection—’  
  
‘No!’ she screamed, digging her nails into her sides. ‘Don’t—please don’t!’  
  
‘What on Earth are you saying, Grell?’ William contested, but his voice was shaking.  
  
‘It’s not—it isn’t—’ She sobbed again. ‘It isn’t ladylike to be so exposed!’  
  
This made Othello halt all attempts at touching her. ‘Oh, Grell.’ He laid a gentle hand upon her forehead. ‘I know. And I’m truly sorry, you know I am. But you also know how much I care about you, and how sad I would be, how sad Ronald would be… how sad all of us would be if we were to let you die.’ He gently turned her head to look at him, and he offered her a kind smile. Then, he grinned fully. ‘I’m not your type anyway, so what does it matter if a geek like me sees you exposed, eh?’  
  
For a moment, Grell was stunned, a few more silent tears rolling down her face, taking with them a few specs of blood which had landed in their path. Then, albeit hesitantly, a smile finally broke out on her features.  
  
‘You truly are,’ she croaked through the blood, ‘the nerdiest man I know.’  
  
Ever so slowly, she relaxed her grip, allowing Othello to gently lift her arms and access the bandages. He gave her a bright, toothy grin in return. ‘You know it!’  
  
He was about to cut into the layers of fabric when he realised one last thing. ‘Oh, William!’  
  
The reaper, who had been silently standing at the foot of the bed watching the scene unfold, and who Grell had partially forgotten about, perked up his head.  
  
‘You’re going to have to leave.’  
  
William started. ‘I beg your pardon?’  
  
‘You heard the lady. She doesn’t want to be exposed. Now, out, out!’ He made a shooing motion with one hand. This made Grell chuckle, although it was followed by a short cough.  
  
William sighed, but his brow was furrowed and his eyes would not meet the pair’s. Something was preying on his mind. Still, he retrieved his scythe and papers, and left without any more complaints.  
  
‘My, my, what a stubborn man,’ Othello mused, carefully cutting the wrappings. ‘Still, that’s your type of man, isn’t it?’  
  
Grell only sighed.  
  
Othello looked up from his work, bemused. ‘Oh? Something the matter?’  
  
She shook her head and removed her spectacles to wipe them on the bed. She didn’t care how dirty the bed got; she wasn’t going to be the one to clean it, anyway. She slipped them back onto her nose and gave another sigh. ‘Only that _that_ stubborn man is the reason I’m in this wretched place.” Her voice sounded croaky and nasally, but after calming down, despite still being congested, speaking had become a little easier.  
  
Othello appeared a little startled. ‘Don’t tell me Will is the one who hurt you. The blade on that scythe of his is barely big enough to cut a branch, let alone a body—’  
  
‘No, no, it wasn’t him who hurt me! It was…’ She paused. Had it really been a week ago? She had been so surprised at that length of time, but now, it felt like months had passed. ‘I saved him. I intercepted one of the Undertaker’s attacks, and he has yet to utter a single “thank you”.’  
  
Othello whistled. ‘I’m quite impressed you managed to keep up with Whitey’s speed.’ Grell scowled at him. ‘Not that I’m glad you did, of course. There, first part done!’ He had finished cutting down the bandages, and now began gently slipping them from Grell’s body.  
  
The redhead flinched and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see what horrific state she had been left in. If Othello noticed her reaction, he didn’t comment on it. He carried out his work with the utmost professionalism, and a comfortable silence fell over the two reapers until he had finished.  
  
‘Right, all done!’  
  
Grell opened her eyes and beheld the fresh white bandages now covering the expanse of her torso. Othello was smiling and humming as he cleaned the equipment he had used, clearly undisturbed by whatever ghastly sight Grell had expected.  
  
He _does_ work for Forensics, after all, she thought with a smile. That man has probably seen all sorts of horrid things.  
  
Before she could utter a word of thanks, Othello shoved a beaker of some kind of opaque liquid in her face. ‘Drink this, it’ll clear your oesophagus.’  
  
Grell grimaced. ‘That looks positively vile,’ came the croaky response.  
  
Othello chuckled. ‘Oh, it is! But it does the trick.’  
  
‘Ugh.’  
  
With a shudder and a pinched nose, Grell downed the concoction. She was right: it _had_ been positively vile. But, she could already feel her throat clearing, and after a couple more coughs, she felt relatively back to normal—aside from the constant dull ache in her chest.  
  
‘Thank you, Othello.’ Ah, her voice was so much better!  
  
‘You’re quite welcome! I suppose William can come back in, now, seeing as you’re all covered up again. Hey, William, you can come back in!’  
  
‘I don’t think he will have waited outside all that time, Othello—’  
  
‘No, here he comes, look!’  
  
Indeed, the door to the small room soon opened to reveal the dark-haired reaper. However, he looked considerably different than he had done the last time Grell had seen him: a little paler, a tad shaken?  
  
‘Dear me, Will, were you that worried about me?’ she said with a grin.  
  
William adjusted his spectacles and wasted no time in quipping back: ‘Simply for the work you have yet to complete. Knox has been taking care of most of it, but—’  
  
Grell gasped angrily. ‘Is that why Ronald isn’t here?! You bloody slave-driver!’  
  
‘I forced him to do no such thing. He chose to.’  
  
She huffed and crossed her arms, albeit more gently now, to accommodate for Othello’s hard work. ‘Then I shall thank him, because _I_ know how to be grateful to people!’  
  
William narrowed his gaze. ‘What are you insinuating, Sutcliff?’  
  
‘Well, she did save your life, didn’t she?’ Othello chipped in. ‘From what I’ve been told, at least,’ he quickly added, for he was then subjected to William’s death glare as well.  
  
‘Don’t say that like I’m some unreliable source of information!’ Grell scowled.  
  
‘I never asked you to save me, Sutcliff,’ came William’s firm reply, but his eyes would not meet hers.  
  
‘Well, too bad, because I did! And if I hadn’t, it would be you lying on this deathbed instead of me—’  
  
‘ _It’s not a deathbed, because you’re not dead!_ ’  
  
William gripped his death scythe like it was the only thing grounding him, and his other fist was balled at his side. His eyes were finally on Grell’s. They were filled with anger—but something was off about it, like it was shielding something else.  
  
Grell and Othello were both taken aback by this sudden outburst. In fact, Grell could not remember the last time William had raised his voice in such a manner. She’d seen him angry, yes, and exasperated plenty of times, but never in so passionate a manner as to require a shout.  
  
Had this been any other situation, Grell would have fought to calm him down. But this was not any other situation. Just moments ago, she had been curled up in agony before his very eyes, after having spent a week in some kind of coma, and the only thing he could think to say to her was that _she wasn’t dead?_  
  
‘And to think I always perceived your coldness to be the sexiest thing about you,’ she sneered, her sharp teeth showing through her lips. ‘I find it to be quite unbearable, now.’  
  
William merely lifted an eyebrow, his expression having quite returned to normal. ‘Unbearable? You would know a lot about the word “unbearable”, wouldn’t you.’  
  
Othello was becoming increasingly more anxious by the second. ‘Hey, now, come on, why don’t we all just calm down—’  
  
‘Ha!’ she cackled. ‘I wish I’d never sacrificed myself for you!’  
  
‘What sacrifice?’ William’s tone was rising into the domain of frustration once again. ‘You didn’t sacrifice a thing! You’re still here, aren’t you—’  
  
‘I sacrificed _everything!_ ’ Grell screamed, balling her fists in the sheets beneath her. ‘My time, my health, my skin, my entire life story! My cinematic record! Everything I’ve ever tried to hide, to suppress, to disguise with confidence, it all came out in the end! You’ve seen it all and you didn’t give a single toss, you heartless bastard!’  
  
‘Come on, Grell, don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?’ said Othello, a little nervously.  
  
‘Harsh?’ She laughed wholeheartedly. Oh, how wonderful it felt to have her throat so free and unrestricted! ‘He’s been harsh to me since day one. Haven’t you, my dear Will?’  
  
William had not moved from his spot at the foot of Grell’s bed.  
  
‘I want you to leave.’ she growled.  
  
Still, the reaper remained motionless.  
  
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ She was almost screaming. ‘I told you to _leave!_ ’ With the last word, she threw a pillow at his head, which he dodged without an issue.  
  
William adjusted his spectacles with the tip of his death scythe. ‘Very well. I shan’t bother you any longer.’ With that, he left.  
  
At first, she felt triumph over that wretch. William T. Spears, who had always looked down upon her and given her orders despite being the same rank as her, had finally listened to one of _her_ commands!  
  
But as the seconds passed, and the rage subsided, she began to feel absolutely terrible. With a choked sob, she feel back onto the bed, hands slipping beneath her spectacles to rub her eyes, trying to prevent them from crying—but it was too late.  
  
‘Oh, Grell,’ Othello sighed. ‘You never know when to reign it in, do you?’  
  
‘But why should I?’ she tried to retort, but the upset in her voice as clear as a crystal glass. ‘Why should it always be me?’  
  
‘I suppose you’re right. But you know Will. I’m sure he meant a lot better than what he ended up saying. He’s quite emotionally constipated, after all.’  
  
Grell glared at him from the corner of her eye. ‘You couldn’t have chosen a more eloquent wording?’  
  
Othello shrugged. ‘It was the easiest way of describing him. You know what I mean, don’t you?’  
  
She sighed, giving her eyes one final rub before setting her spectacles back into place. Reluctantly, she nodded.  
  
‘Good. I shan’t ask you to apologise to him, but I think at least a good talk between the both of you should clear the air. Promise you’ll do that the next time he visits?’  
  
The redhead groaned. What an adorably childish view of the world Othello held, despite being countless decades her elder. ‘I promise.’

*

For the next week Grell was required to remain in the medical ward, William did not return. She was a little hurt by this; regardless of what she had said, she would always have a soft spot for stoic, dark-haired men, and not being able to flirtatiously irritate Will like she usually would was something that she didn’t realise she would miss so significantly. Plus, she had been thinking about what she could say to him to douse the fires between them. But, Ronald and Othello made a point of visiting her at least once a day each, so her spirits were far from low. Othello would insist upon telling her about all kinds of boring and geeky things, while Ronald would happily chat about his ‘girl of the week’. Both of which were topics that Grell had little to no interest in, but knowing that she had people in ranks both inferior and superior to her who genuinely appreciated and respected her warmed her heart more than she would ever be willing to tell them.  
  
At long last, she received the news that she was allowed to leave and return to regular grim reaper duties.  
  
‘Finally!’ She was sitting on Ronald’s desk, blissfully combing through her red locks. Her signature red coat flowed freely from her form, and she swung her heels back and forth from the elevated surface. She was truly herself again! ‘Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a haircut? This gorgeous mane needs to be looked after, you know.’  
  
‘Of course it does,’ replied the blond, humouring her as he read through the list of souls to retrieve that day. ‘But don’t you have work to be doing, Miss Sutcliff? I tried to cover as much as I could without going overtime, but there’s still a substantial chunk left.’  
  
‘Oh?’ She seemed genuinely puzzled.  
  
‘What, you haven’t noticed the papers piling up on your desk?’  
  
She shook her head.  
  
Ronald leaned back in his chair and ran a hair through his fringe. ‘Well, blow me! Someone in administration must have a soft spot for you, because with the Undertaker’s nonsense, death’s been everywhere!’  
  
Grell stayed and chatted with Ronald for a little while longer before heading back to her office. When she arrived, her eyes scanned her desk. Not a single pile of papers in sight. She was an efficient worker, after all.  
  
She tapped a freshly manicured nail to her chin, humming in thought. Had they just distributed the work to the other reapers? No, administration wasn’t so kind. This job was a punishment, in the end, and she had been painfully reminded of that. Almost subconsciously, she pressed a hand to her chest.  
  
Someone had chosen to take on her workload. Ronald would never volunteer for overtime, and Othello wasn’t even in the retrieval department. Could it have been—  
  
She shook her head. No, surely not. Will probably hated her by now, anyway.  
  
Grell sighed and picked up her beloved death scythe. How long they’d been apart! Too long, she mused, and never again would it be so. Time to continue with the work she _did_ have.

*

With a cry, Grell sat up in bed, sweat plastering her crimson fringe to her forehead. Blasted nightmares, interrupting her first night in her own bed! She shouldn’t have been surprised, really, with all the horror she’d witnessed in recent weeks, but it was still horrid.  
  
She tried to close her eyes, go back to sleep, but the second her eyelids fell, she was cursed with sights of green eyes piercing her very soul. Groaning in anguish, she sat up again; the worst part about the nightmares was that she didn’t know if those hateful green eyes were the Undertaker’s or William’s.  
  
Grell sighed. She hadn’t even seen dear Will in so long, let alone spoken to him like she had promised Othello she would. Where had he been? Had he been purposefully avoiding her? Her heart plummeted at the thought. Surely, after so many years of knowing each other and fighting each other, he wouldn’t let her go so suddenly?  
  
She shook herself back to reality. This wouldn’t do at all, no—no, she would go for a walk, clear her head.  
  
She slipped on her spectacles, then her red coat over her white nightdress, making sure to wear the sleeves up to her shoulders—she wouldn’t want to catch a simple cold after such a health scare—and put on her boots. She hadn’t been on the roof in a while, she thought. It seemed to be a clear night, so she was certain the stars would be quite beautiful.  
  
Silently, Grell crept through the building, up the concealed set of stairs which led to the rooftop trapdoor. She grinned. It was prohibited to go up there, but fortunately for her, security relied on the grim reapers’ common sense in following the rules, and so the door was never locked. She pushed it open and, with a tad more effort than she would have liked to exert, she pulled herself up onto the roof, smiling as the night’s cool breeze fanned her face.  
  
Suddenly, she froze. There was someone else on the roof! Was it too late to duck behind the nearest chimney—  
  
‘Grell Sutcliff, what are you doing up here?’  
  
Hold on a moment—she recognised that voice.  
  
‘William?’  
  
The figure stepped out from where the chimney had been obscuring it, and sure enough, it was none other than the man she had not seen in almost a week. She was about to indignantly bring up that fact, to demand where he had been, why he had been avoiding her, why he had acted so unfairly when she had, for once, desired to talk it out like adults… when she noticed his disposition. His skin was pale, except for beneath his eyes where it was dark and pallid, and his hair, although combed, lacked the tidiness and shine that William prided himself upon when it came to his professional appearance.  
  
‘Oh, Will, what’s happened to you?’  
  
‘You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing up here?’  
  
She narrowed her gaze. ‘What are _you_ doing up here?’  
  
He adjusted his spectacles with the tip of his death scythe. ‘Touché.’  
  
Grell smirked and began to saunter over to him, her nightdress gently blowing in the night air. ‘But, if you _must_ know, then I simply wanted to go for a nice night-time walk. Is it illegal for a girl to want to stargaze?’  
  
She wondered if William could hear the nervousness beneath her casual words and demeanour. She so desperately wanted things between them to go back to normal, and to her delight, she noticed that as she had stepped closer, he had not moved from his position, despite his ever-stoic expression. So, he was not so intent on avoiding her, she remarked.  
  
‘No, but it is prohibited to be on this roof.’  
  
Still grinning, she leaned in a little closer, though not too close to impede his exit. The last thing she wanted was to scare him off.  
  
‘Then why are _you_ here, Mr Spears?’ she inquired playfully.  
  
For a while, he gave her no answer, and his gaze became a little distant. ‘I can leave, if you wish me to.’  
  
‘What? Good heavens, no, that’s the last thing I want!’  
  
‘Oh? But you previously said—’  
  
‘Oh, sod what I previously said!’  
  
‘That isn’t like you at all.’  
  
‘And _this_ ,’ she motioned to his entire body, ‘isn’t like _you_ at all! You look exhausted, and I haven’t seen you in your office in days!’  
  
‘I have been busy.’  
  
‘Doing what?’  
  
‘Work.’  
  
‘Work that didn’t require you being in your office?’  
  
‘That, and then some.’  
  
‘And then som—oh.’ She stopped. Was it—had William been—  
  
William adjusted his spectacles again. ‘My, my, Grell, it certainly took you a while to catch on.’ He turned and began walking towards the trapdoor, but Grell was in his way.  
  
‘Now, hang on just a minute!’ She grabbed the sleeve of his black jacket as he attempted to walk past, and sharply poked him in the chest. ‘You do _not_ get to pin the blame on me, William. Why would I catch on to something so out of character for you, hm? You’ve never done anything like this for me before.’  
  
_Why am I so upset? Why do I feel so sad?_  
  
‘But you had never done anything like that for me before, either,’ he replied calmly. He had yet to shrug off her grasp.  
  
_Why do I feel like crying, when he has just acknowledged what I did?_  
  
‘Why,’ she found herself muttering.  
  
William raised an eyebrow. ‘Why what?’  
  
Grell swallowed down the tears welling up. She had shed far too many this week, and she wasn’t about to start again. ‘Why are you doing this now?’  
  
‘Doing what?’  
  
‘Don’t be an arse, William!’ she cried. ‘In the medical ward, you made it clear that you had no intention of being grateful to me. Yet, here you are, doing my work to make my life easier, but slowly killing yourself in the process! I don’t understand. I don’t understand, and I can’t stand it! Stop being so emotionally constipated and let me inside that hardened, handsome head of yours!’  
  
She felt certain her grip was hurting his arm, but if it was, he made no move to escape it. Instead, he just stared at her, his expression part confusion and part awe. Then, ever so slowly, his until-now straight lips curled into a smile, which he then covered with his free hand as the tiniest of chuckles escaped his throat.  
  
‘This is no laughing matter, Will, I’m a lady in distress!’ Her upset quickly switched to frustration once more.  
  
‘Forgive me.’ He quickly regained his composure, exhaling briefly as if expelling any last traces of laughter. ‘But “emotionally constipated” is not an expression I would have expected you to use.’  
  
Huffing, she crossed her arms across her chest. ‘Blame Othello, that’s how _he_ described you.’ An amused smirk of her own was growing.  
  
‘Good to know you have been gossiping about me behind my back.’  
  
‘Only because we have no idea what to do with you!’  
  
She had said them in a joking manner, but clearly, her words had affected him a little more than she would have guessed. He turned away, towards the edge of the building where the stars met with the horizon, as though thinking deeply about something.  
  
‘I see my attitude has been in your thoughts quite a lot.’  
  
‘It has.’ She hesitantly took a step towards him, praying he wouldn’t shy away. He didn’t. ‘Everything has been so confusing, Will. Not just about you, but in my own head as well. It’s not easy seeing your life flash before your eyes.’ She smiled a little wearily. ‘The last thing I need is for you to start acting all bizarre as well.’  
  
‘I see.’  
  
Before she could react, he had spun on his heel to face her. For a split second, their gazes were held by one another’s, green phosphorescence meeting in contrast with the darkness of the night surrounding them, standing out against the brightest of stars. Then, to her absolute shock, he bowed deeply.  
  
‘Please accept my humblest apologies, Miss Sutcliff.’  
  
‘Will, what on Earth are you doing—’  
  
‘I have been rude, and inconsiderate of your struggles.’  
  
‘Will, there’s no need, really—’  
  
‘But there is.’ He clenched his fists as his sides. ‘I have been blind to your hardships, thinking only of what you chose to present to us. Even when I was made aware of them, I opted to remain silent, hurting you further, when you had been willing to give your life for mine.’  
  
Curse it all, she thought, as she felt hot streaks running down her cheeks for the umpteenth time.  
  
‘Thus,’ he continued, ‘I present you with my apology, as well as my thanks.’  
  
Grell shook her head, taking the time to process each of his words one by one. Then, realising he could not see her movement, she ever so gently cupped his face in her hands, prompting him to look up at her. He would have seen a makeup-less, tear-stricken face, surrounded by matted, wind-blown hair, but she shook those thoughts out of her head. They weren’t important at the moment.  
Little did she know, though, that William would admire her beauty no matter what.  
  
‘I forgive you, Will.’  
  
‘Please, do not feel pressured to do such a thing.’  
  
Hurriedly, she shook her head again. ‘I’m not pressured, I’m not pressured at all.’  
  
She held his gaze for what felt like a century before letting go of his face, cautiously stepping towards the very edge of the roof. The breeze was stronger there, and for a moment she simply let it caress her, wondering if it were possible to let a breeze carry away her greatest worries. Then, she sat upon the ledge, and turned, offering a hand for William to sit with her. After a moment of thought, he did so, though he carefully placed a foot of space between them. At this Grell simply huffed and shuffled closer, taking a hold of his arm and leaning her head on his shoulder.  
  
She didn’t fear him running away. Not anymore.  
  
‘For someone so professional, you certainly go about things in the most inefficient manner,’ she endearingly chastised, her eyes gazing up at the twinkles of light above them.  
  
William did not reply, but Grell swore she felt him press just a little closer against her. She smiled. That was enough of a reply for her.  
  
However, a few seconds later, his voice rose again. ‘In all sincerity, though, Grell,’ he paused, ‘thank you for saving my life.’  
  
She tutted, pawing at his shoulder with her free hand. ‘You would’ve survived.’  
  
He chuckled. ‘A wound so deep? I think not. In fact, I think you survived purely to spite me.’  
  
This made Grell laugh wholeheartedly, her spirits lifted so effortlessly like they were the breeze itself. She leaned a little more into him, sighing. ‘Well, perhaps I did.’

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter for more fun black butler times and MANY grell sutcliff memes: twitter.com/frnkn_stein !


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